


Going Up And Getting Down

by Lissadiane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky as... Black Widow?, Clint as Captain America, Costume Party, Elevator Sex, It's a costume party, M/M, Sassy FRIDAY, Sorry. Again., this is all just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 09:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19016905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissadiane/pseuds/Lissadiane
Summary: What is a fancy ass costume party if not an opportunity to live out his goddamn fantasies?





	Going Up And Getting Down

**Author's Note:**

> I have no notes, no excuses, and no regrets.
> 
> Maybe a few regrets.
> 
> OH WAIT. I do have a note. I wrote this for Mandatory Fun Day, but it's late.

When Tony Stark decides to throw a party, he goes all out, and this one is no exception. He’s somehow managed to bring in a small forest worth of trees, three waterfalls, a fairy-lit lagoon, wait staff dressed as fairytale creatures, ranging from fairies to unicorns to satyrs and other things Clint doesn’t recognize.

It’s a costume party with a fairytale theme, some sort of investor shindig to raise funds for the Stark Initiative, the division that deals with rebuilding the shit the Avengers destroy on the regular, because apparently, according to Tony Fucking Stark, money doesn’t grow on trees.

Clint isn’t an expert on money, but he’s pretty sure that this fuckin’ party cost over $1 million, and that money woulda gone a long way in an investment account somewhere, but he’s not the multimillionaire, Tony is, so.

So he’ll just dress up in his costume and attend for the minimum amount of time humanly possible, and then slink back to his rooms to jerk off while watching Nailed It.

He hadn’t even actually put all that much effort into his custom. Steve’s probably going to be pissed about that -- and if he’s not pissed about _that_ , he’s going to be pissed about the fact that Clint had left his costume to the very last minute and then… well.

Raided Steve’s locker and borrowed his suit.

He’d almost gone for the classic -- the spandex with the red and white stripes, the spangles, the stars.

But then he’d seen the stealth suit -- all sexy and blue with the star on the chest and the straps and harness and -- he’s had fantasies about this suit, okay, and what is a fancy ass costume party if not an opportunity to live out his goddamn fantasies?

He’s also late, because a Barton never arrives on time, and when the elevator opens with a cheery ding, all he’s thinking about making his way directly to the bar for a glass of whatever topshelf whisky Tony’s serving at this thing.

And then he catches sight of Bucky Barnes, who apparently had a similar idea and dressed up like a fellow avenger.

The problem is, rather than raid Steve’s things, or even Tony’s things, or, fucking god, Thor’s, he’d dressed himself up like Black Widow.

With leather. Super tight leather. And. And lipstick.

Clint’s mouth is dry and his heart is pounding and this has to be a sick joke.

He abruptly realizes that he’s been staring with his mouth hanging open and it must look entirely unattractive, in the stupid stealth suit, with the Captain America shield he’d made with cardboard and markers the hour before, staring at Bucky and drooling. Fuck.

He turns to make a valiant retreat, maybe hide in the coat closet and hyperventilate a little bit and reconsider his life choices, but Natasha appears beside him with a sharp, pleased smile on her face.

“Problem, Barton?” she asks sweetly, hooking her arm through his. He’s not fooled -- it’s not affection, it’s so that he can’t get away.

“What did you do?” he hisses at her, shooting Bucky another look.

The black leather is doing fucking fantastic things for every part of him, especially his ass, and Clint forces himself to look away, because Bucky’s got to have realized that Clint’s making an idiot of himself, judging by the number of quick, furtive looks he’s getting and the way Bucky’s face is slowly turning pink. And the way he’s chewing the lipstick off his bottom lip.

 _Clint_ wants to chew the lipstick off his mouth. Fuck.

“Made you a present,” Natasha tells him, turning him to face her so she can do something with his hair, touselling it with her fingers. “Don’t waste it.”

“Don’t -- don’t waste it?” he squeaks, and she smiles and stands up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek that’s gonna leave a lipstick print.

“Who do you think told him about that particular fantasy of yours?” she whispers in his ear with a wicked grin. “Just like I told you about his.”

“What -- what fantasy?” Clint asks her. She tugs pointedly on the straps running down his chest.

“It’s a good look for you,” she tells him. “You’re welcome.”

And now that he thinks about it -- it had been Natasha’s idea that he steal Steve’s suit for the costume party.

Oh, shit, he’s been played.

He glances back at Bucky and finds him leaning a hip against the bar across the room, staring more blatantly now. As Clint watches, Bucky sucks his red lip into his mouth and runs his finger absently around the rim of his whisky glass. His eyes are dark and unfocused and it’s almost like Bucky has no idea the looks he’s getting, the way the leather is hugging the curve of his hip, emphasized by the -- oh sweet fucking jesus, the thigh-high heeled boot he’s wearing.

Clint swallows hard and downs his drink and before he has time to figure out if he’s going to flee for the elevator or hide in the closet or maybe man up and make his way over there -- he and Bucky have been playing a steadily more frustrating game of will-they-won’t-they-fuck-in-the-range-despite-Tony’s-specific-instructions-not-to for weeks now -- Steve appears, looking hilariously disappointed.

He’s dressed like a fucking pirate.

“That’s my suit,” he says, frowning at Clint, who beams at him with a shit-eating grin. 

“Yup,” he says. “How’s it look?” He holds up the cardboard shield and strikes a patriotic pose.

“Like it’s a legitimate piece of equipment and not meant for wearing to a cocktail party,” Steve tells him. “You better not get anything on it.”

“I promise to do my very best not to spill anything on your suit,” Clint tells him solemnly. “It kinda feels like it would be treason if I did.”

“The star on your shield is crooked.”

Clint sighs. “I know. I was gonna steal -- uhm, borrow -- your shield too, but it wasn’t in your locker and FRIDAY wouldn’t tell me where it was, so --”

“That’s because he keeps it in his bedroom,” Bucky says suddenly, voice low and velvety and warm with amusement. “Sleeps with it like a teddy bear.”

“Damn, Barnes,” Clint says, not even thinking about it, because he is a man who will live or die on his ability to do things without thinking them through. “Shoes like that, you’re almost as tall as I am.”

Bucky looks up at him through his lashes, which are dark with mascara and he’s got eyeliner on too. He smiles, slow, and says, “You like it?”

Clint swallows hard and tries to match the pretty smile and says, “You’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Jesus,” Steve says, sounding pained. “Clint. Take the suit off. Before -- before this goes any further. It’s dry clean only.”

“No can do, Cap,” Clint says, apologetic. “Tony says I gotta be here, in costume, for an entire hour, before I can go watch Nailed It and jerk off, and I only just got here.”

Steve points an accusatory finger at him and says, “If you jerk off in my suit, Barton, I will have you on paperwork duty for a _year_.”

Clint salutes lazily and says, “On my honour, Captain Rogers.”

Steve still looks constipated when he storms off, probably to find Tony and insist he let Clint retire early from the party, before he stealthily jerks off in his precious stealth suit.

And then he’s alone. With Bucky. Dressed in skin tight leather and super tall boots, which don’t seem to affect either his balance or his grace. If Clint tried wearing heeled boots, he’d probably have fallen and broken something by now.

“That, uh. Colour looks great on you,” he says, because he’s staring at Bucky’s mouth again. Jesus.

Bucky smiles, slow, and says, “Yeah? This suit is riding up my ass.”

“I’d like to be riding up your ass,” Clint says, because thinking. It’s not his strongest attribute.

He blinks when he realizes what he said, because there’s a fine line between flirting outrageously and just laying his cards on the table and he’s got the feeling that he’s just laid his cards out and he isn’t even sure he’s got a winning hand.

Bucky cocks his head, his hair -- shining and clean and curled just a little to fall messily around his face the way Natasha’s only ever does when she’s trying to look helpless and sweet and seduceable -- tucked behind his ear. He reaches for Clint slowly, wrapping his hand around the strap that runs over Clint’s shoulders, and tugging firmly.

“You wanna get outta here?” he asks, before sucking his lip into his mouth and biting it, staring up at Clint’s mouth like he’d rather be biting him instead.

“I just got here,” Clint says, swallowing hard.

Bucky grins. “I’ll be your alibi,” he promises, and then he’s turning to the elevator, leading Clint by his harness, his hips swaying in the leather, exaggerated by the boots and -- oh god -- the whip Natasha has thoughtfully coiled through the belt at his waist.

The make it to the elevator, and it whisks open as soon as Bucky pushes the button. He tugs Clint inside and hits the button for the sixth floor.

It’s a glass elevator, open on three sides, with a fantastic view of the entire lobby and the fairy tale forest Tony’s set up there. The guests are all decked out in fabulous costumes, the water features are glittering, and up above, the glass ceiling shows off an amazing view of the clear, cloudless starry sky.

They get halfway to the sixth floor and Clint is systematically cataloguing every detail of the party below, when the elevator grinds to a slow, startled stop.

He glances over his shoulder to see Bucky with his metal finger on the emergency stop button.

“Oops,” he says.

Clint straightens up, eyes wide, and says, “Won’t that set off an alarm?

“FRIDAY?” Bucky asks.

“Good evening, Sergeant Barnes. I see you have activated the emergency braking system, but I cannot detect an emergency. May I be of assistance?”

“Yes, FRIDAY,” he says, stepping closer to Clint. “Just see that we are not disturbed. Okay?”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.” She hesitates, and there’s just the slightest twinge of judgement when she adds, “It may also be of interest to you both that the glass on this particular elevator provides those riding in it with a beautiful view of the Atrium. However, guests in the Atrium are unable to see inside the elevator.”

“Perfect,” Bucky says, practically purring. “Thank you.”

“Are you -- are we --” Clint says, because he’s laid his cards on the table and he just wants to make sure that Bucky’s playing the same game.

Bucky wraps his fingers around both harness straps and looks up at Clint and says, “All I’ve been able to think about since you stepped out of this damned elevator in that suit is you fucking me in it.”

All of Clint’s breath leaves his lungs in a startled rush, his eyes going dark and his mouth going dry as he pictures that, and he can’t help but reach for Bucky, settling both hands on his hips, the leather warm beneath his palms.

“Are you gonna be thinking about Steve while I do it?” he asks, because he knows himself and he knows he’s going to be reliving this experience for the rest of his life and he’d like to get some of the anxieties he knows he’ll worry about out of the way first.

“Who the hell is Steve?” Bucky asks, mouth just a whisper away from Clint’s, and then he’s pressing up and into the filthiest kiss Clint has ever had.

The glass is cool against his back and Bucky is burning up against his chest, licking his way into Clint’s mouth and dragging his tongue against his teeth and his bottom lip and Clint can’t breathe, moaning into Bucky’s mouth and holding tightly to his hips.

When Bucky drags his mouth down to Clint’s throat, leaving aching teeth marks as he does,Clint slides both hands up to tangle them in his hair.

Bucky makes an interesting, high sound when Clint tugs and it does something to him -- something that makes his dick go instantly hard and his chest tighten up and Clint tugs again, just to hear it again.

Clint is so fucking hard -- he’s got an erection and he’s wearing Captain America’s pants. Oh god.

“Christ,” Bucky says, and there isn’t time for finesse here -- they’re fucking in an elevator, Clint is wholly aware of the fact that at any minute, someone is probably going to want a ride up and FRIDAY is probably going to be torn between giving them some goddamn privacy and actually accomplishing one of her tasks.

Even knowing that, however, Clint is a little unprepared for Bucky to just. Find the zipper to the fucking suit, even though it had taken Clint nearly an hour to figure out how to get the thing on, and unzip it, shoving his hand down to wrap it around his cock.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Clint gasps, head slamming back against the glass behind him.

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles, biting at his throat and stroking him and Clint’s gonna come in Captain America’s suit and it’ll be embarrassingly quick and also, he’d probably get a hefty drycleaning bill.

“Bucky,” he pants, tugging Bucky’s hair to pull him away.

Bucky moans, ragged and desperate, and lets Clint pull him back.

“How’m I gonna fuck you like this?” Clint asks him, cupping his jaw and studying his face and the way the lipstick’s smudged. Fuck, Bucky probably left smudges of it all over Clint’s mouth.

“You can have me anyway you want me,” Bucky tells him, breathing hard. His mouth is swollen, his eyes are dark, and Clint just wants to wreck him even more.

“You wanna turn around for me?” he asks, pitching his voice low. He hears the way Bucky’s breath catches as he nods.

“Yes,” he says, turning so his back is to Clint. When Clint touches him, moving him to where he wants him, Bucky goes easily, until he’s standing against the glass wall, facing out over the atrium, both hands braced on the railing.

“See all those people down there?” Clint asks, soft, as he smoothes Bucky’s hair out of his face, tugging just a little -- Bucky cries out a little at the pain, leaning into it, and Clint can’t help but gather up all his hair and wrap it around his fist, holding tightly.

“Don’t you wish they could see you up here, looking so pretty? Your lipstick smudged and your hair --” he tugs it sharply - “A mess?”

“Clint,” Bucky says, sounding strangled. “Jesus, just -- just -- they can’t see, just touch me.”

“You didn’t even ask very nicely,” Clint says, pretending to pout. “And you didn’t answer the question. Don’t you wish they could see you?” He leans up against Bucky’s back, crowding him against the glass, letting his free hand wander down Bucky’s chest, toying with a zipper that runs diagonally down from his pec. He pushes his cock up against Bucky’s ass, grinding a little, as he slides his hand down to cup him through the leather pants. “Don’t you wish they could watch while I fuck you? See you when I’m inside you.”

“C-Clint,” Bucky pants, but he’s grinding back against him. “You fucking tease.”

“But you look so pretty like this,” Clint says, nipping at his ear lobe. “Gonna look so pretty with my cock inside you, gonna take it so well.”

“Fuck. Fucking damn it, Clint,” Bucky says, and he’s trembling a little. “ _Please_.”

Clint presses a kiss to the nape of his neck and lets go of his hair, freeing up his hand to fumble for the zipper of his leather pants. He takes the opportunity to palm his ass with the other hand -- these pants really are doing fucking fantastic things for it.

“Hold onto the railing,” Clint tells him, and the wooden railing creaks under the grip of Bucky’s metal hand. “You didn’t think this out, Bucky. I wanna -- I wanna get your pants off but keep your boots on while I fuck you, how’m I supposed to do that?” Clint tells him, shoving his hand down the front of Bucky’s pants, cupping him. He’s hot and feels huge and Clint can already feel a bit of wetness gathering at the tip of his cock and his throat goes dry with how badly he wants to taste it.

Bucky lowers his head and pushes into his hand and, without a word, hands Clint a wickedly sharp knife, because of course he came to a costume party with a goddamn knife, and now he expects, what, Clint to cut him out of his fucking pants?

Clint can’t help but laugh, pressing his face between Bucky’s shoulder blades even as he takes the knife and tosses it a safe distance away because he doesn’t want this to end in tears and bloodshed.

“So prepared, Buck. I don’t suppose you brought any lube, though.”

Bucky glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes and says, “You think Natalia was gonna let me outta her apartment without making sure I had that, with you looking the way you do?” And Clint laughs again while Bucky hands him the lube and condom Natasha apparently ensured he had stashed somewhere in his skin-tight leather suit.

“I owe her a damned fruit basket,” he mumbles as he shoves the pants down around Bucky’s thighs, crowding up against him.

“Clint,” Bucky pants, pushing back against him, sounding broken. “Just, please, I need you inside me.”

“Shh,” Clint says, running a soothing palm down his back and lower, and then he hesitates, eyes going wide. “Buck,” he says, fingers tracing around what is unmistakably a plug, already pressed inside him. “What’s this?”

“Wanted to --” He cries out as Clint drags his fingers over the plug, moving it inside him. “Wanted to be ready for you,” he pants.

“Pretty confident, weren’t you?” he asks, laughing just a little, pressing the plug further inside him.

Bucky looks over his shoulder at him, biting down hard on his bottom lip, and says, “Got all dressed up like this and just kept thinkin’ ‘bout how much I wanted you to fuck me like this.”

Clint kisses him, and the angle is awkward and it’s nothing more than a dirty drag of his mouth against Bucky’s, but he pulls the plug out agonizingly slowly as he does it, only halfway and then waiting for Bucky to drop his head and whine a little before pushing it back in. He plays with it a bit, until Bucky is a panting, begging mess, and by the time he finally slips it out, Bucky is nearly whimpering on every exhale.

“Please, please, Clint,” he says, as Clint slips two finger inside where he’s already loose and wet.

“So good for me,” Clint soothes, fucking his fingers deeper inside him, spreading them as wide as he can, and brushing them over Bucky’s prostate, making him jump and cry out a little. “So pretty like this.”

Bucky leans forward, trying to spread his legs further, but he can’t with his pants around his thighs that way, and even though he’s gotten himself ready, has _been_ ready the whole time he was at the party, he’s tight.

“Must have felt so full waiting for me,” Clint mumbles, fucking him with his fingers. “Down at the party, dressed up like this, thinking about me fucking you -- Christ, Bucky, I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

“Promises, promises,” Bucky pants, and Clint laughs even as he slips the condom on and slicks himself up.

“You’re so good,” Clint tells him, as he pushes slowly, carefully, inside him. Bucky pushes back against him, breathing hard and swearing brokenly, taking Clint deeper inside him.

For a moment, it’s too overwhelming and feels too good and Clint can’t move, just clings to Bucky and pants and stares over his shoulder at their reflection in the glass -- the bright spot of Bucky’s lipstick, the way his hands are clenching on the railing.

“So pretty,” Clint tells him.

And Bucky says roughly, “Thought you were gonna fuck me, Barton, not get all sentimental.” He talks a big game but his voice his high and cracks in the middle as he pushes himself back against Clint, desperate to take him deeper.

Clint smacks him lightly on his ass and says, “What did I say about asking nicely?”

“Beggin’ didn’t seem to be working,” Bucky says, all casual, like he didn’t just moan brokenly when Clint smacked him.

Clint laughs even as he pulls out, slow, and then slams back inside him, hard enough that Bucky curses, losing his grip on the railing and catching his balance against the window.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Like that.”

“You feel so good,” Clint tells him, his own voice going a little breathy. 

“I’d feel even better if you’d just -- if you’d just shut up and fuck me,” Bucky snaps.

“Shh,” Clint says, laughing, pushing inside him again, and slipping a hand over his mouth to playfully gag him. “Or I’m gonna hafta --”

Bucky sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, brushes his tongue roughly against it, and then bites down a little, and throws everything off -- Clint’s rhythm goes all to hell, his voice breaks off into a breathy moan, and he has to duck his face against Bucky’s back to try to regain some goddamn composure.

Meanwhile, Bucky just keeps sucking on his finger like he wishes it was Clint’s dick and they are definitely, definitely going to have to do that later.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth later,” he pants, as Bucky grinds back against him and Clint pulls his wet fingers from Bucky’s mouth and wraps them around his cock. Clint can see the reflection of his hand as he strokes him, and it makes his mouth water to taste him. Clint starts moving again, pushing hard inside him, and he can feel Bucky tightening around him, can hear how close to orgasm he is in his unsteady breathing.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, reaching back to tangle the fingers of his metal hand in Clint’s hair, holding tight as he rocks against him. “But maybe we can -- Jesus, fuck -- make it to the bedroom for that.”

“I find I must agree with Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY says suddenly, and it’s exceedingly polite and incredibly startling and Bucky reacts poorly, yelping and jerking and Clint reacts just as badly, jumping and slamming inside him as his hand squeezes around Bucky’s dick and that’s all it takes -- Bucky’s yelp becomes a strangled moan as he comes all over Clint’s hand and the window in front of him.

FRIDAY just keeps talking, even as Clint bites down on Bucky’s shoulder to muffle his moan as he comes inside him.

“I’m afraid the lineup of people waiting for the elevator is growing exponentially and a call has already been made to elevator maintenance,” she says, apologetic and judgemental all at once. Clint just closes his eyes and does his best not to fall over, because his legs don’t seem to be working right.

“Fuck,” he says finally, and Bucky laughs a little.

“Bedroom,” he says, and his voice sounds wrecked.

Suddenly Clint’s in a hurry, carefully pulling out of him, dealing with the condom, and somehow getting his suit done back up. His legs seem perfectly fine with the idea of fucking Bucky’s mouth -- and maybe having a goddamn shower -- on the horizon, and Bucky seems to be in just as much a hurry, shoving himself back into his tight leather pants and staggering on his heels a bit.

His lipstick and eyeliner are smudged all to hell, and Clint tries to clean the lipstick up a bit with his thumb, but it doesn’t do much. He frowns. “I made a mess,” he says, apologetic, and Bucky presses a light kiss to his mouth before reaching over his shoulder and hitting the button to get the elevator going again.

“You certainly did,” FRIDAY says, as the doors open on their floor. “Might I suggest you remove the items you’ve left on the floor before disembarking? And a washcloth for the window wouldn’t go amiss.”

Clint blinks at the come dripping down the window of Tony’s fancy as fuck elevator and the butt plug, lube, cardboard Captain America shield, and knife they tossed to the floor.

“Okay,” he says. “Clean up. Then shower. Then mouth-fucking. Right.”

He turns to lead the way and Bucky grabs his hand and says, “But you’re keeping the suit, right?”

Clint smirks at him over his shoulder and says, “I’ll keep this one if you keep yours.”

Bucky grins. “Deal.”

The End. Oh god.


End file.
